


Enthalpy

by FatalCookies



Category: Gallifrey (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: F/F, Genderswap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-31 08:18:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1029424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FatalCookies/pseuds/FatalCookies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All reactions in the universe might be summed up as transfers of heat. The change in heat (ΔH) dictates the type of reaction and whether heat was gained, lost, or stagnant within the system.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enthalpy

_ΔH > 0_

The body is a beautiful thing. Namely, it is a work of art that is under constant assault from the elements, is undergoing unending degradation and, at the same time, self-restoration. No need for the dusters and the smoke-lifters and the pigmentation replacement: the work goes down to the cellular level, the work of millions of years of cells learning to take the uphill road, taking energy from their surroundings to build themselves up for precious seconds longer – precious mere nanospans, because they all died off so very quickly.

No other art piece in all of the universe compares.

—

_ΔH < 0_

The universe, as a rule, favors two seemingly contradictory notions: high entropy and equilibrium.

The latter of the two rules demonstrates itself on a semi-regular basis, these days, when one of them gains the upper hand. Rinse and repeat until one too many times passes, and they are left with _one_ , the snarkier, or _one_ , the more battles won, or _one_ , the more furious. And when these times happen their blood aches for retribution – both bloods and all four hearts – until they come crashing together to even out the score once again.

The former comes to play when Narvin digs her nails into Braxiatel’s back and pushes back _hard_ with her hips, and when Braxiatel bites into Narvin’s neck _almost_ too hard – any harder and she would draw her pulse up to the surface – and together they make each other into angry red-marked versions of their former selves. And they do not stop – they cannot stop – until they crest the activation energy necessary to get all that they have put into each other _back_.

Their angry red-marked skin turns into smudged, dull purple, like the color of fresh ashes after a fire.

—

_ΔH = 0_

Narvin is dressed impeccably once more in her glorified bedsheet of a ceremonial robe, her chin held high and her shoulders set modestly back. Only someone who is expecting it might note the way she moves her head with calculated caution, and only someone who had the privilege to peer underneath and see the cells at work restoring her skin from purple to yellow to skin, once again.

And only Narvin must notice the way that Braxiatel sits straight and proud, saving herself the sting of still-tender lines which the first had drawn into the second’s flesh.

They meet eyes exactly once. Their acknowledgement is silent, unheeded, and unheated.


End file.
